“Okay.” Keefe interrupted Jarret’s thoughts. “I’ve got to get back on the road. I’m almost there. Why don’t you give Roland a call? Papa’s out and Mr. Brandt got called somewhere else. I don’t think he knows anyone else who can help.”
“All right, maybe. I’ll see you. Have fun with the monks.” Jarret stuffed his phone into his chest pocket and stepped into the men’s bathroom. After splashing water on his face, he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He admired his facial hair, the stubble he’d left on his upper lip and chin, a faint goatee. And he tapped a curl into place and touched the hair fastener to make sure his ponytail was secure.
He could probably get any girl he wanted. Girls liked him. He simply had to glance in a girl’s direction and she’d blush or give him that flirty look. Was there a girl at school who wouldn’t go out with him? Maybe he should experiment with that.
No, bad idea. He’d have to break up with most of them, every one that didn’t work out. He’d get a reputation of dumping girls and no one would go out with him. He didn’t want that reputation. But he had to dump Chantelle.
Or did he? Maybe they could talk more and do things in groups. Like Caitlyn with her courtship rules. He’d mocked it then, but now...
Jarret flexed his biceps and straightened his shirt. He always wore shirts cut for his build, to accentuate the muscles that he had worked so hard to develop. The clothes, hair, the way he walked, his attitude... What kind of girl was he attracting with his image? What kind of girl did he like?
Jarret took a breath and gave himself one last glance in the mirror. As he headed for the door, his phone belted out his ring tone. He snatched it from his pocket. He really needed to silence it before he went back— Roland’s name showed on the screen.
Roland was going to ask him himself.
Jarret brought the phone to his ear as he strode from the restroom. “Hey, Roland. Can’t talk. I’m on a date right now.” Two girls stood outside the women’s bathroom, both of them watching as he emerged.
“Yeah, hi, Jarret. I know. And if I could think of any other way, I wouldn’t bother you.” Roland panted between words, sounding winded.
“What, are you outside taking a jog?”
“A what? No, I’m on my bike. I just stopped to get Keefe’s call and, well, to talk to you.”
“Yeah, he told me what you wanted and no can do.”
“Please, Jarret. I know you’ve been helping me out with everything lately, and I really appreciate it and don’t want to take advantage...”
Jarret sighed. He couldn’t talk to Roland without feeling a combination of guilt from the way he’d treated him in the past and thankfulness for Roland’s forgiveness.
“...but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t have friends with cars.”
“What about Leo?” Jarret remembered the kid driving Roland and Peter around last year.
“We aren’t exactly friends, but when Keefe told me you couldn’t do it, I did try to call him.”
Jarret’s heart sank. True, he’d been helping Roland at every opportunity, but Roland never asked him to do anything. And now he’d had to turn to someone else because Jarret wouldn’t help him. Okay, so maybe he could do this for Roland without feeling like he was helping Peter. “So what exactly do you need me to do?”
“Really? You’ll help?”
“I don’t know. Tell me what you need.”
“I’m on my way to Peter’s. His car broke down an hour north of here, and he just needs the battery in his garage.”
“Wait. Peter has a car? He’s not even sixteen.”
“Yes, he is. He turned sixteen last month.”
“Okay, so I’m supposed to drive you and a battery out to Peter? Then I leave?” He knew the answer to the second question. He’d never leave Roland in an unpredictable situation.
“Yeah, then you can leave. Peter can get his car going, no problem. I’ll ride home with him.”
Staring at the door to the theater, Jarret couldn’t get himself to answer. It would save him from the temptations that Chantelle forced on him. But Peter...
“Okay, well, I’m gonna get going,” Roland said. “I’m five minutes from Peter’s. I’ll wait there for ten minutes, but then I’ll ask Peter’s aunt if she can do it. Or someone. I’ll find someone. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I knew you were on a date.” Without pause Roland said, “Bye.”
Jarret ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket. He yanked open the door to the auditorium and stepped into darkness. Should he let Roland find someone else to take him? No, he couldn’t do that. He’d take Chantelle home.
He’d still see her. But from now on, they’d only go out in groups and not to their friends’ houses. He’d make sure one of their parents was around and... Yeah, wow. This was what Keefe said courtship was like, back when Keefe went out with Caitlyn.
Though no one knew his thoughts or could even see his face in the dark theater, heat rushed to his chest and cheeks as he stomped up the steps to the top row.
Chantelle reached a hand up as he neared his seat. “What was that about?” She grabbed his hand and tugged.
He gripped her hand and tugged back, yanking her to her feet. “I got something I gotta do. I’ll take you home first.” Squeezing her hand, he led her down the steps.
She was fidgeting with something, maybe her purse, and taking ungraceful steps beside him. Zoe came to mind and her ever-graceful moves. He missed her.
As they rounded the corner to the long dark hallway that led out of the auditorium, Chantelle regained her poise and yanked her hand free. “Jarret, stop.”
He kept walking and palmed the door open. Then he leaned against it, holding it for her and watching as she passed from darkness to light.
Angry eyes glared at him. She folded her arms, and her purse strap slipped off her shoulder. With a grunt, she put it back in place. “So what’s this about? Some emergency?”
Jarret shrugged. “You could say that.” He put a hand on her back, guiding her toward the main lobby. “I’ll make it up to you sometime.”
“You can at least tell me what the emergency is.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked at him.
He debated whether or not to tell her for two seconds. But it wasn’t his emergency so he didn’t mind sharing. “You know Peter Brandt?”
“Ew. He’s in my Environmental Science class. He’s such a dork.”
They entered the gaudy lobby where fluorescent pink and blue lights hung over movie posters high on the walls. Three grade-school-age boys and a woman stood in line at the concession counter. A group of teens, probably from River Run High, huddled together in the middle of the lobby, laughing and talking. The wall of windows and glass doors showed trouble brewing, heavy gray clouds covering all but a trace of an orange sky. Great. They’d probably be driving in rain.
Jarret pushed open a glass door and nodded for her to go first. “Okay, so Peter’s car broke down. He’s stranded an hour away. And I’m gonna help him out.”
“Why you? I never knew you were friends.” Her heels clacked on the sidewalk. She took his hand.
“We’re not.” Even the thought of it made his stomach flip. Fishing his keys out of a pocket, he led her to the parking lot. He walked with confidence, though he couldn’t remember which row he’d parked in and the lot had filled up since they arrived.
“So why are you ruining our date to help him?”
Jarret took a deep breath. He’d been asking himself the same questions. If not for Roland... “My brother asked me to. It’s his friend.”
“So you’ll do anything your brother asks?”
He shrugged again, smirking and liking that he could answer that with a yes. “Family. You know.”
“No, I don’t know. So why can’t I go with you?”
“Want to?” He glanced at her and—bonus—glimpsed his cherry red Chrysler 300 behind her in the next row over. Squeezing her hand, he changed direction and headed for the
car.
“Sure. We can talk on the way.”
“Okay, but you’d better promise to keep your hands to yourself. My brother’s going with us.” A few raindrops sprinkled his face.
She bounced her next two steps. “I’ll try.”
JARRET SLOWED AS HE glimpsed the hot pink neon sign that announced the Forest Gateway B & B attached to Peter Brandt’s house. Roland stood under the overhang of the detached garage, out of the rain, a toolbox and battery at his feet and a black jacket in his hand.
“Girls at school tell me that your brother’s Goth.” Chantelle sized Roland up as they pulled into the driveway. Dressed in faded jeans and a dark gray t-shirt, he stood with one leg bent, looking uncomfortable in his skin.
“No, he’s just a dork who likes to wear black.” Jarret regretted the comment. He should think before he spoke, rather than let every sarcastic thought fly out.
Not wasting a second, Roland grabbed the toolbox and battery and rushed to the trunk. He would know Jarret wouldn’t allow that junk anywhere else. Coming from Peter’s garage, it probably had grease all over it. Not that it mattered anymore. What, with the perpetual Limburger cheese stench.
Jarret popped the trunk and glanced at Chantelle. She’d never mentioned the stink in his car. Maybe she couldn’t smell it over her perfume.
Chantelle gave a sulky glance back. “An hour away, huh?”
“Need to call your parents?”
Shaking her head, she turned toward the front passenger-side window. “I texted Mom.”
Roland slammed the trunk and jumped in the back seat, a sweaty, wet, outdoorsy breeze whooshing into the car with him. “Thanks, Jarret. I really appreciate this.”
“Yeah.” Jarret couldn’t have sounded more disgusted. Not that he’d wanted to come across that way. The tone just came out.
“Hi, Chantelle,” Roland said to the back of her head. “Sorry to ruin your date.”
Chantelle twisted around to look at him and gave a smile that Jarret suspected was fake. This mission may have irritated her more than him.
Jarret glanced at Roland through the rearview mirror. “I didn’t know Peter had a car. What’s he driving?” He drove back through town, the rain falling harder.
“It’s an old Dodge Durango.”
“Oh. Fun,” he said with sarcasm. He flipped the wipers up a level.
“He thinks it’s fun. He wanted something to fix up.” Roland leaned forward and squinted out the window. “Did you just pass up that state route?”
“Yeah, I’m not going that way.”
“Peter said to take the route that goes north.”
“I don’t care what Peter said. I know how to get to Rapid City.”
“We’re going east.”
A rush of indignation. “Yeah, so I’m going east to the interstate which goes north. To Rapid City. And I can fly down this road instead of crawl around all the twists and turns on Peter’s route.”
“With all this rain, maybe you don’t want to fly.”
Jarret glared through the mirror. “Buckle up, boy, ‘cuz I’m flying.”
Roland sat back and folded his arms, saying nothing but looking grumpy.
Taking a breath, Jarret regretted snapping at him. Using the nicest tone he could muster, he said, “Peter intentionally bought a beater, huh? So why’s he driving a beater all over the state?”
“I don’t know. A friend needed a ride.”
“What friend? A girl?” Jarret found himself grinning, amused at the thought of Peter having a girlfriend.
Roland hesitated. “Yeah. A girl.”
“Who?” Chantelle, who hadn’t been paying attention to their conversation before, twisted to see Roland over her shoulder.
Roland hesitated again, longer. “You don’t know her.”
“Does she go to River Run?”
Roland shrugged.
Adjusting her seatbelt to get some slack, Chantelle turned completely in her seat and draped an arm around the headrest. “So tell me who.”
Roland let out a sigh. “Brice.”
“Brice Maddox?” Chantelle laughed. “Isn’t she the girl whose house just got vandalized?”
“I didn’t think she was the dating type,” Jarret said, choosing his words. He’d seen her in the halls. That girl’s attitude said she had no time for guys. How had Peter made friends with her?
“It’s not a date. She needed a ride. She’s been helping Peter with the Durango.”
Chantelle laughed in that cruel way that only a girl can. “Not helping him enough, obviously, if it broke down an hour from home.” She turned back around and adjusted her seatbelt.
Roland stared out the window with a stony expression.
Jarret turned to Chantelle. They had an hour-long drive. They should get to know each other.
“Wanna listen to the radio?” he said, turning it on.
“Sure.” She smiled in a sweet way that Jarret could get used to.
“What do you listen to?”
Their conversation went from favorite songs and least favorite classes to favorite foods, pet peeves, and hobbies.
“Watching movies and texting friends ain’t hobbies,” Jarret said. He’d already told her that he was into horseback riding, fencing, marksmanship, and pool.
“They are the way I do them.” Chantelle giggled and beamed a smile at him. “Oh, and I take pictures.”
“Now you’re talking.” If she liked photographing things, she could have a field day on their property. It ran along a river on one side and a cliff on another. Farmer’s field in the back. Evergreens scattered everywhere. Cool rock formations closer to the house. Yeah, he could give her the tour one day. Maybe she’d like to take pictures of their horses, too. “So what do you take pictures of?”
“Myself.” She took her cellphone from her purse and tapped her thumbs on the screen. “My friends. Sometimes food. Wanna see?”
Jarret’s gaze slid from the road to her phone. He glimpsed an image of her in a swimsuit. Pulse shifting to a higher gear, his gaze clicked back to the road. “No. I hate looking at pictures.”
“But they’re pictures of me.”
“I’m driving anyway.”
She leaned and whispered in his ear, “I’ll show you later.”
A shiver ran down his neck from her breath on his skin. He glanced in the rearview mirror.
Roland stared, mouth hanging open and a hint of disgust on his face. “So, Chantelle, do you go to church?” he blurted out. First words he’d spoken since Jarret had questioned him about Peter.
Jarret’s guard went up. He didn’t want to talk to Chantelle about his faith. It was too personal, deeply personal. Not something he’d ever share with her. Why had Roland asked?
“Me?” Chantelle flipped golden curls off her shoulder and twisted to face him. “No. I... mean... I have. But hardly ever. Why?”
“Are you a Christian?” This from the boy who ran out of speech class because fear took his voice.
Irritated by the shift in conversation, Jarret tried shooting a warning through the rearview mirror but Roland didn’t acknowledge it.
“I don’t know. I guess so. I mean, I celebrate Christmas. That counts, right?” She giggled and looked at Jarret.
Roland turned back to the window. “Hmm.”
Seething inside, Jarret threw hostile glances at Roland through the mirror. Roland caught none of them. Why had he butted into their conversation? Why bring up her faith? Maybe Roland had seen through her right from the start. Maybe Roland thought she wasn’t right for Jarret, wasn’t his type. What was his type? One of the Fire Starters? What would a faithful Catholic girl see in him? He’d messed up in big ways that everyone knew about.
Clutching the steering wheel with stiff hands, Jarret stared straight ahead and stepped on the accelerator. Rain drops pounded on the windshield and the wipers thumped them away, never fast enough, leaving Jarret with a blurry view of the road and nothing else.
Did he want to dat
e Chantelle knowing that the Lord wasn’t high on her priority list? Did he want to date her knowing that her morals were lower than his? He had no intention of giving in, but did he want to put himself to that test every day? How long before he caved? Then where would he be?
The gloominess outside seeped into his soul. He couldn’t become that person again. He’d hated himself back then.
Jarret decided. He had to break up with her.
Lights flashed in the side and rearview mirrors, reminding him of the flash of light he’d seen before slugging C.W. But these lights were red and blue.
Stomach sinking, Jarret lifted his foot from the gas and tapped the brakes. He pulled off the road and into the strip of grass, coming close to a little wooden fence he hadn’t seen at first glance.
With a heavy sigh, he dug his wallet out of his back pocket.
An officer with a flashlight marched up beside the car and tapped on the window.
Jarret lowered the window and held up his license, insurance card, and registration while raindrops sprinkled his face and arm. This was getting old.
“Well, hello there, Jarret West. We meet again.” Officer O’Brien smiled down at him. The same officer that had talked to him two weeks ago and given him his first speeding ticket over the summer.
JARRET STOPPED GRINDING his teeth and shoved his speeding ticket into the glove compartment. For the past twenty minutes, he hadn’t stopped thinking about Officer O’Brien. Chantelle hadn’t stopped talking about every person she knew who had gotten a speeding ticket. And Roland had been peering out the windows, as if worried Jarret would take a wrong turn.
“There! That’s his car.” Roland pointed to the front windshield, his arm sticking between Jarret and Chantelle. As soon as Jarret had turned down this road on the outskirts of town, Roland had scooted to the edge of his seat. He’d been peering through the relentless rain and thumping windshield wipers with bated breath ever since.
Standing Strong Page 21
